


The Angel's Wife

by AEpixie7



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Character, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, look i tried ok, probably, super sad story guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 10:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17937674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AEpixie7/pseuds/AEpixie7
Summary: Crowley discovers a secret journal hidden in Aziraphale's bookshop, which details how the angel spent part of the 19th century while Crowley was sleeping. He got... married?! (Calm down my gayngels, it's not what you think).  Az didn't realize how lonely he was after Crowley went to sleep and became kind of a needy little  shit. Alright this story wrecked me when I wrote it. Why do I do this to myself. (Some strong language)





	1. Chapter 1

When Crowley had first discovered the locked drawer in Aziraphale’s desk, it had been entirely by mistake. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said absently, his eyes focused unwaveringly on the book in front of him, his steady hand hovering over the current page with precision. 

“Would you fetch me another bottle of ink, in the top drawer of my desk?” 

Crowley peeled himself from his chair in front of the fire, reluctant to leave its warmth but needing to oblige his friend. Mostly because he knew Aziraphale would only keep asking until the end of days, if necessary. There was no distracting him when he was busy restoring an old book. 

Crowley had approached the desk, mistakenly pulling on the second drawer, and when he found it locked, he attempted to unlock it in the same way he did the Bentley, or the door to the bookshop when it was closed: with celestial will. The handle glowed white, burning his fingertips, which he recoiled with a hiss. He had never even heard Aziraphale move, but when he looked up, the angel was immediately in front of him, his blue eyes wide with panic and his wings out, as if he had literally flown across the bookshop. 

“ _Top_ drawer, Crowley. I realize diligence is a virtue but you really should pay better attention,” Aziraphale barked, stepping rudely into Crowley’s personal space and forcing him to back away from the desk. He snapped his wings closed and immaterialized them as he roughly retrieved his ink from the top drawer and slammed it closed. He huffed back to his work space, leaving Crowley entirely shocked and confused. 

“Geez, angel. Didn’t mean to offend you,” he ventured, and when he received no admission from the angel, his anger boiled. 

“What the hell, Aziraphale?! You just jumped over here like I pissed in your tea…” he started, but Aziraphale interrupted him. 

“Let it go, Crowley,” he urged, but that only irritated him more. 

“Let _what_ go, angel? I don’t know what I did! Why do you even have a drawer that you’ve locked with _divine will?_ That could only mean you’ve got something in there that you're specifically hiding _from me…_ ” 

“Let it _go, I said!_ ” Aziraphale shouted, standing and slamming his fists down onto the table. A wave of angelic smiting power emanated from his being and hit Crowley in the chest, throwing him back into a bookshelf and making him cry out in pain. 

Aziraphale didn’t realize what he'd done until the silence in the bookshop pulled him out of his rage. He looked up at Crowley, and it felt as if the floor had fallen out from beneath him. The look of utter betrayal on his friend's face was heartbreaking. He hadn’t caused that kind of harm to Crowley since before the Arrangement. 

“Crowley, my dear, I’m…” Aziraphale said as he started to round the table, but Crowley pushed himself away from the bookshelf and snatched his keys off the table, exiting the back room without a word. 

“Please, Crowley, don’t go, I…” 

The bookshop's door slammed with finality, and Aziraphale's heart sank. He let out a shaky sigh and approached his desk, sinking dejectedly into his chair. He stared at the second drawer down, an anguished cry echoing in his chest that he thought he'd silenced ages ago. Over a century, if memory served. But as he reached down and removed the celestial power keeping it locked, he could only picture how broken Crowley had been when he left. The balance of centuries old heartbreak toppled over toward the one he'd just committed. 

***

Crowley had honestly forgotten about that day. Sure, they hadn’t spoken for months after that. And to this day neither had ever truly apologized or even mentioned it. Crowley couldn’t remember how they’d come to patch things up, he just assumed one of them had become desperate enough for their drinking buddy and the other had acquiesced. He pushed that locked drawer to the back of his mind, and had almost entirely forgotten its existence. Until years later, when he stopped by the bookshop unannounced. 

“Angel?” he called, glancing around the empty back room as sunlight poured in the windows, lighting the dust that hung in the air like weightless flecks of gold. Even so beautifully lit, the bookshop seemed lonely, which was Crowley’s first hint that Aziraphale wasn't there. 

He dropped his keys on the desk and glanced over to the chair in the corner- Aziraphale’s favorite spot. He was hoping the angel would accept an impromptu invite to the Ritz on account of having just gotten back from a rather taxing mission in eastern Europe. He was tired and grouchy and desperately wanting to be well tossed in good company. The angel’s absence was problematic, but Crowley knew where he kept the booze. He could get a head start and hope Aziraphale would join him when he returned from... wherever he was. Crowley pulled a bottle of wine from the cupboard and took a swig straight from it, plopping himself in the chair and propping his heels on the desk. 

“Get your feet off the desk, Crowley. Why don’t you get a glass, Crowley. I thought you were the serpent of Eden, not the swine of Eden,” he mocked aloud, proud of the likeness he had achieved but still a bit disappointed that he hadn’t gotten to hear it from the angel himself. He took another drink from the bottle, his eyes falling to the second drawer down. He blinked several times, and instantly the memory of that night flooded back to his consciousness. He had never seen the angel so unnerved, and he had witnessed quite a few atrocities. What on _Earth_ would he need to hide so badly, from the one other being in all of existence that seemed to understand him? 

He pulled his feet off the desk and reached for the drawer, but stopped before his fingertips contacted the seemingly innocuous handle. _He was quite upset the last time I tried this. Damn near smited me. I should respect his privacy._

He nodded to himself, proud of his own restraint, and leaned back in his chair, his hand absently swirling the wine in the bottle as he chewed his lip. 

The grandfather clock by the fireplace ticked. Once. Twice. Three times… 

_Seriously, what could he be hiding? And why would he need to hide it from me of all people? We haven’t had a reason to hide things from one another since before the Arrangement. Should I be worried?_

He growled as he leaned forward once more, his fingertips grazing the handle. 

_It’s not locked._

His hand froze where it was, his skin tingling from the memory of the burn he'd suffered the last time he touched this handle. 

Which meant Aziraphale had felt badly enough for hurting him that he'd removed his will from the lock. _He'd rather I discover his secret than hurt me again._

“Fuck me,” he said, removing his hand and tucking it between his knees, in an effort to restrain himself. _I can’t betray him like that._

He stared at the drawer for what felt like hours, the clock ticking away quietly in the background, until the toffee colored wood and bland silver handle of the drawer really started to resemble a certain ancient apple tree. _Do it. You know you want to…_


	2. Chapter 2

A _book?!_ We're in a bookshop, surrounded by the bloody things, and this massive secret Aziraphale has had hidden in his desk is _another book?!_

Crowley reached into the drawer, which was empty save the single leather bound occupant. The spine creaked as he opened it, the first blank page stiff with age as his fingertips eased it to the side. 

Not a book… _a journal._

He would recognize that handwriting anywhere. Centuries of scribbled invitations and correspondence had made Crowley acutely aware of the angel's style, and this journal was no exception. He knew Aziraphale had an almost perverse obsession with reading, but he had never known him to be a writer. 

He glanced around the bookshop once more, his guilt making him uneasy. Somewhere in his subconscious he knew he should put the journal back, but now that his curiosity had been piqued, there was no replacing it. A demon's urges were like spilled wine. There was no getting it back in the bottle once it tipped. 

The words began earnestly enough. 

_I am no poet. Of this I am dreadfully aware. The written word, to me, is much like a flame. Beautiful and inviting, but not something I should ever touch with my own hand. In fact I think it is probably akin to biblical infringement for an angel to even attempt scripture. But that is not my intention in writing this. I only wish to commemorate someone that I believe to be as close to perfection as is, well... as is heavenly possible. Someone whose life I believe I stole, whose happiness I commandeered as a consequence of my own loneliness. Someone whose memory will be entirely lost to history, save in these pages, and in the mind of a single angel._

_If ever there was evidence of God's grace in movement, His kindness in a glance, His gentleness in a touch and His intelligence put to voice... It was Katherine De Marre. The daughter of a prominent family during the early 19th century. Known among her peers as the demure and mysterious Miss De Marre. And for the last ten years of her life she was Lady Fell._

Crowley snapped the book closed and dropped it onto the desk, the sudden burst of energy causing him to rocket to his feet, the desk chair toppling over backwards. He stared at the journal as if it had just snarled and bit him. 

Fell was the surname Aziraphale had chosen centuries ago, for use whenever he needed to blend in to society. It was on his bookshop. It was how he signed his name. _Lady Fell._ Aziraphale… had taken a wife?! 

No. _There's no way._ What possible scenario would cause the angel to get that close to a human? To meddle so intimately in their daily life? Crowley honestly would never have believed it was true, were it not for the fervor with which Aziraphale had safeguarded this journal's existence. He glanced back down at it, innocently staring up at him while simultaneously taunting him. He righted the desk chair and sank carefully into it, his hands much more tentative as he ventured back to the first page. 

_For the last ten years of her life she was Lady Fell. But to me she would always just be Kitty._

_I suppose I should back track a bit. To when I assume my path began toward the woman that would later become my wife. The turn of the century hadn’t been kind to my demon companion, and after a few years of his absence, I began to think perhaps he'd been recalled Below. A little research and poking about his most frequented debaucheries revealed that he was simply sleeping, and had been for quite some time. I thought about waking him, but as I watched him sleep, he seemed so peaceful. More at ease than I'd ever seen him. I’ve never really understood his enjoyment of the pastime, though he was quite a bit easier to be around when he wasn’t spewing quippy sarcasm and targeted blasphemy._

Crowley smiled to himself as he read. 

_I continued to check on him every so often. I was surprised to find that every time I did, my hope grew more intense that I would find him awaiting my company with a drink in hand. It was rather unnerving, to realize that I… missed him._

_I could never tell him any of this, of course. Not that his absence affected me so deeply, not that I had become so dependent upon our interactions that I was driven to such a mundane human thing as marriage. The taunting would be unbearable. Insufferable. For all the things he seems to understand better than any of his kin, I believe his demonic nature makes him incapable of restraint. Least of all where I am concerned. I suspect this is deeply rooted in his guilt at his own enjoyment of our rapport. Or perhaps I am giving him too much credit. Perhaps he's just a nob._

_Regardless, it became apparent after several decades that Crowley was not to return to the land of wakefulness any time soon. He’d never slept that long before, and I couldn’t imagine his superiors would allow that kind of disregard for his work on Earth. I placed a horseshoe over the doorway of his home, just in case any of them came looking for him. After that I left him be, as much as it pained me. I am ashamed to say I didn’t know how to be without him anymore. For the first time on the great earthly plane, I was the only celestial. I was undeniably, staggeringly alone._


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley sat back in his chair, his mind racing through the years. Back to his century-long sleep. He’d needed it. Badly. It had started to feel as if, for the first time since he'd been assigned to Earth, he didn’t want to be there anymore. Which was a dangerous thing, for a demon. Because there was only ever one other alternative. 

He’d woken up and felt refreshed, with all sorts of mischievous energy and itching to cause trouble. The early twentieth century had been ripe with possibilities, and he'd jumped head first right back into it. He realized, too, that he had simply picked Aziraphale back up, like a play thing he'd gotten tired of and set aside for a hundred years. He'd never even thought to ask what that century had done to the angel. 

He stood from the desk, the journal in one hand and the bottle of wine in the other. He willed the fireplace to ignite, feeling somehow homesick as he made himself comfortable in the angel's favorite chair. He dove back into the journal to distract himself. 

_I busied myself with the humans. I traveled a bit, but never strayed too far from London. Upon one particular return I found it prudent to insert myself into the lives of those around me. I acquired a home, and through some small miracles gave myself lands and titles, and a reputation. Not too Noble of a name, but just enough that I could move around freely among the upper and middle classes. The Regency period was not entirely unpleasant, and I was honestly a bit relieved Crowley wasn’t there to see it. A bit too refined for his tastes, I think._

_The one unfortunate side effect of my becoming more involved with the humans was the need to mingle in society, or risk more questioning eyes prying into my business. I had made a fairly comfortable home in the country, but found myself invited to the notable families’ soirees on more than one occasion. My corporation being of somewhat eligible maturity, and living seemingly unwed, it was rather dubious to refuse such offers. I suppose I dug my own grave, giving myself lands and titles. I appeared a right Bachelor I suspect. But the rich had access to the really good wine, so I made my trade offs._

_One such event was the first time I ever met Miss Kitty, though I wouldn’t come to know it was her until many years later. Her father enjoyed the drink, a bit more than even myself, and had a tendency to doze off in his library while entertaining guests. I didn’t mind, however. He usually provided good cigars and the finest cognac. I would lounge by the fire, Mr. De Marre snoring from his spot on the sofa. Lady De Marre had long since retired, and I thought the children had as well. It was quite relaxing, truthfully, to find myself in a cozy library, reading in solitude but not entirely alone._

_I believe “jumping out of one's corporation” is an accurate way to describe how startled I was when a voice piped up from just beyond the book in my hand._

_“What are you reading?” she asked._

_After I successfully composed myself, albeit a bit embarrassed, I glanced down to find a girl, no more than six or seven years. She had light ginger hair, like a sun-worn autumn leaf, and dark, inquisitive eyes. She sat with her legs tucked up beneath her, and pulled at a strand of her hair, twirling it around her finger as she awaited my reply._

_This you must understand about me. I am not proud of it, nor should it even be possible for someone of my angelic constitution. And if it were to ever be repeated in the presence of my superiors, I would deny it until the Heavenly floor opened up beneath me._

_I cannot stand children._

_Mostly, they are noisy, destructive, annoying little things. “Demonic” is a word that comes to mind. But as she stared up at the book in my hand, I recognized something in her. Something in the way her oak brown eyes followed the trembling pages. An obsession, a yearning for what lay in such simple ink and parchment. I saw myself, the first time I ever held a book- such a marvelously simple thing. I couldn’t deny her._

_“A very good story,” was my reply, and she scooted closer to me, her periwinkle dressing gown crumpled beneath her knees._

_“Is it a love story?” she asked._

_I considered whether I wanted to answer her truthfully. The contents of that particular book did not seem appropriate for someone so young, nor did I possess enough familiarity with early women's education at the time to even make a judgement on what she would understand. But I decided that charity is, after all, a virtue._

_“Well, no, not particularly. It is a story of intrigue and adventure. Of science, discovery, of men and monsters.”_

_She seemed to think over my words, and then said the most peculiar thing. “Good. I’m tired of love stories.”_

_And that was the first time I had a proper laugh since before Crowley went to sleep._

_“Will you read to me?” she pleaded, and I was yet again placed in a precarious situation._

_“Shouldn't you be sleeping?” I inquired._

_She leaned against my knee, completely disregarding any personal space, as children do._

_“I don’t want to go to sleep. I want to hear a story. Mother never reads to me. Father says young ladies shouldn’t concern themselves with such things.”_

_I glanced in the direction of her father, unconscious from his overindulgence. He seemed the least qualified to be making decisions concerning this poor girl's interests._

_“Well I believe the author of this particular story would very much disagree with him,” I said, turning the cover towards her and watching her eyes light up. “Never known 'Mary' to be a boy's name, have you?”_

_She smiled with glee, once again invading my space to climb into my lap. I knew I should feel uncomfortable, but the innocence and adoration radiating from her as she reached out and touched the book with her small hands… it was intoxicating for an angel. I ensured that her father would remain asleep for quite some time, and then proceeded to read Mary Shelley's Frankenstein to a child._


	4. Chapter 4

_I never spent much time repeatedly with the same people. Too risky. Given that our corporations are frozen upon a certain appearance in age, we can’t have humans recognizing us years or decades later. I tried to be as unremarkable and forgettable as possible, and that was very much the case where the De Marre family was concerned. I took a few missions in the heart of London, and when I returned to my home in the country almost two decades later, no one seemed to be the wiser._

_I enjoyed my time in that home. I became almost complacent in my solitude, though I still missed those inebriated and jovial conversations with Crowley. I had no inclination of his return during those years spent in London, and eventually settled in to life without him. I honestly pitied him. He had never slept so long before, almost forty years at that point, but I can only imagine the stress of his work had finally pushed him to shut out the world, everything, even me, for as long as he could. Whatever he needed to do to get back to being the infernally delightful demon he’d always been… I was prepared to wait._

_I bolstered a rather impressive library in my spare time. The Regency era had produced some extraordinary works of literature, and I poured my passion into it. Humans were achieving such incredible things with the written word, and I couldn’t help but reach out to some of them, inspiring them with love and an appreciation of nature and the world around them. Perhaps it was a bit selfish, to inspire the writers whose books I was beginning to amass. But they were just books, after all. What bad could ever come from a book._

_I continued to accept the occasional invitation to the grand balls and social events, under the identity of Lord Ezra Fell. On the surface, such events served for mingling and making acquaintances, but I had to be sure they never devolved into sin. Humans are such pesky creatures. Allow them to gather under lavish pretenses enough times and eventually an innocent party becomes an orgy. I was not going to have a repeat of Ancient Greece._

_The balls were not particularly memorable. Every one was the same. Drinking, merriment, dancing. Not things I ever really partook of, other than the drinking of course. I vaguely remember a pretty young woman with fawn colored hair, but as the parties melded together in my memory, she became a constant. The only person whose conversation wasn’t entirely superficial and mind-numbing. Although she was very clearly a beautiful woman and unwed, much to her parents' dismay, she tended to alienate most men at those parties. She spoke plainly of women's rights and education- a topic which the bachelors found utterly humdrum. I avoided the dancing, and gravitated toward her more and more. She tired of dancing as well, and we took many strolls arm in arm through the gardens of countless country Manors._

_We spoke of books, social theories, politics, and music. She was funny, and bright, and sometimes she shocked me with her astute observations. She was comfortable around me, and I was happy to provide a confidant. It was perhaps a bit self serving of me, but I enjoyed being needed. She admitted she found no promise in the idea of marriage, and wished to spend her time composing music and playing the piano. Men didn’t interest her, and although her parents insisted she get married and start a family, the thought petrified her. I had never heard a human speak this way before. It was novel to me, at the time, that any human would choose solitude. Immortals must sometimes adjust to being isolated, but never humans. To my mind, family was what humans were supposed to want._

_Before I knew it, I had become closer to her than I had ever intended. Much too close. She trusted me, and even began seeking me out at social gatherings, disregarding everyone else in attendance. And what was worse, I awaited her with baited breath. A dangerous thing. I couldn't imagine how my own boredom and perfunctory attention to my angelic duties had lead to such a precarious turn of events. I remember making a decision to withdraw myself from her life, but not without some closure. She deserved that much, at least._

_It was all for nought, however. For the next party I attended, her engagement to a Mr. Isaac Eldrich was announced. And later that night, her dress muddied and her cheeks drenched with tears, she showed up on my doorstep._


	5. Chapter 5

_Kitty seemed unnaturally unhinged by her upcoming nuptials. I was prepared to scold her, for showing up unannounced at such a late hour, and especially unchaperoned at a gentleman's home. I didn’t understand why she was so upset, but when she flung herself into my arms and cried into my shirt collar, the thin veil of detachment I had spent years weaving around myself unraveled into nothing. My heart broke for her. It mattered not why she couldn’t bear the thought of marrying Mr. Eldrich. All that mattered was she was terrified, and of all the people she could have turned to, she turned to me. It would have been unangelic of me to turn her away._

_I was entirely out of my element- relating to her as another human being. So I did what I’ve always done- I tried to understand. To learn what makes humans act as they do, what makes them feel and behave as they do. I did not yet realize how much I already understood exactly what she was feeling._

_“I’m trying to understand, Kitty. Why do you find the idea of marriage so abhorrent? Don’t you want to fall in love? And be loved?” I asked her. She smiled, though it did not seem the slightest bit amused, and fiddled with the handkerchief in her hands as she continued to sniffle._

_“Of course I do, Ezra. That day, in the garden. I told you I didn’t want to be married and that I wasn’t interested in men. I wasn't lying, not entirely. It’s not… marriage… that I cannot stomach, it’s…”_

_She hesitated, and I could feel the usually bright and confident energy that surrounded her faltering, as she kept her eyes glued to the fire. “It’s the… obligations of a wife to her husband that I…” she seemed unable to continue._

_I considered her for a moment, and it finally clicked._

_“You mean… obligations… in the, er… marriage bed…”_

_She closed her eyes and gasped, tears streaming down her face. Her shoulders sank, and she covered her face in her hands, the picture of someone utterly broken but finally, miraculously understood._

_I rushed forward to embrace her, and she clung to me as a child does a mother. “I have so much love in me, Ezra. For music, for books, learning, horses. I want to explore all of those things with a partner. Of course I want to fall in love. Of course I want to be loved. But I just don’t see how anyone, any man could love me without…”_

_She fumbled, unable to speak the words._

_And it was then that I had never thought her more angelic, and me more foolishly human. How had I never seen it before? How could I have been so blind? She had told me, truthfully, and I had just assumed she must have been wrong. She would want that aspect of human life, eventually. When she met the right person. But now, seeing her desperate and terrified, willing to run away from her childhood home, into the arms of someone more foreign than she could possibly comprehend… I had never felt more dense._

_“Oh Kitty. Don’t speak that way. Every part of you is worth loving. Regardless of how you… choose to convey that love. Heaven knows I understand that,” I muttered, and she pulled back, her glistening amber eyes boring into mine, the question teetering on the edge of her voice but too frozen by fear. I hesitated, wary of how much I could tell her. But she seemed so alone, as if she were the only person on Earth who felt this way. I had to make her see that there was nothing at all wrong with her. She was exactly as God had made her._

_“Kitty, I… understand. More than you know, and I can't explain it, not ever. But... you and I feel love just as deeply as anyone else. More fiercely, maybe. Whereas I am just… disallowed… physical desire…”_

_That wasn’t strictly the case, not for me anyway. If centuries of Crowley’s indecent influence had taught me anything, it was that I am perfectly capable of feeling desire. How else do angels fall, if not giving in to temptation? I simply choose my temperance. (Yet another alarming revelation I pray the demon never discovers. I’d never hear the end of it. Impudent bastard.)_

“HA!” Crowley shouted at the empty bookshop, though he never stopped reading. 

_I had explained it as best I could to human ears. The dawning realization on Kitty's face was quickly shadowed by doubt, however. “You mock me, Ezra,” she whispered, her voice weak. The fact that she could not bring herself to believe me was evidence of how truly alone she felt._

_“Oh my dear, I don’t.”_

_She considered me for a moment, before a flash of anger crossed her golden eyes. She stood and paced before the fire, the light of it dancing along the renewed stream of tears on her pale cheeks._

_“What so… you mean to tell me you’ve felt this way all along? That I haven’t been so dreadfully alone, as I’ve thought? And you never told me?!”_

_I stood and approached her as cautiously as I could, taking her hand delicately in mine. “Well you'll forgive me for mistaking your meaning that day in the garden, when you said you didn’t wish to marry. I didn’t realize your concept of it was tied so unequivocally to… sex. That’s certainly not a topic that… unwed young ladies and gentlemen discuss openly.”_

_“But you and I have never been like just any other man and woman, have we? Many of our conversations should have been deemed 'inappropriate' but that never stopped you.”_

_“An admitted indiscretion of mine, to be sure.”_

_“My point is that you’ve never treated me like some dim-witted fairy. You’ve seen me, the real me, and you spoke to me as your intellectual equal. And now I must marry that… brute!”_

_“Kitty he can’t be that…”_

_“But he is, Ezra! I’m just a possession to him. A pretty thing to wear on his arm and make him look esteemed at parties. He frightens me. He’s not gentle, or kind, like you. He’s a monster.”_

_I pulled her into an embrace, and listened to her cry. I knew her well enough that I should’ve heard the cogs turning in her mind._

_“Ezra…” she said, her voice strange. I pulled back, and her tears were gone, along with her fearful demeanor, replaced by intense hopefulness._

_“You’re an Earl.”_

_“That title is arbitrary, I assure you.”_

_“Eldrich is just the son of a wealthy merchant. Mother and father know I prefer you to him. An offer of marriage from an Earl could…”_

_I stepped immediately away from her, even as she reached out to me._

_“No. I cannot.”_

_“You and I, we're the same! We could be happy!”_

_“I said no.”_

_“Please Ezra, at least consider it? You can’t allow this to happen! I can’t…”_

_She was insistent, pulling at my shirt sleeve as I tried to back away. How it broke me to do that to her, but she had no idea what she was suggesting. And who she was suggesting it to. My angelic duty to her as a child of God came flooding back to me, and I raised my voice. Something I had never done to her, nor would ever do again._

_“I can and I will! You have no idea what you’re asking of me! To deceive your parents, all of society, into thinking you’ve found an honorable husband, and that you’ll have a family one day! To… what, enter into a lie?”_

_“You love me, don’t you? That part wouldn’t be a lie… would it?”_

_I stood speechless. Of course I loved her. I am an angel, a being of generosity and devotion. But as I stared at her, I found myself petrified by the truth of her words. I did love her. Not in the way that I love all of humanity equally, but in a way that I had only ever felt around one other person. Or, being, rather._

Crowley turned his head just in time to avoid spitting his mouthful of wine all over the journal. “No, that's not… he can’t mean…” 

He swallowed hard, staring sightlessly at the page. He decided Aziraphale must be talking about God. Yeah, of course that’s what he meant. 

_Oh what had I done. I had let this go too far. I should never have entertained her affections, shouldn’t have let myself fall into the routine of her company. What an idiot I’d been. I was so blind to my own loneliness that I had dragged an innocent down with me._

_All I could bring myself to say was “I’m sorry.”_

_She left without a word, and I couldn’t even bring myself to say or do anything. I just watched her go. I was surprised I didn’t Fall then and there, for what I had done to that poor girl._

_It ate at me. For days._

_She was all I could think about. I ventured to her family home, under the pretense of wishing her well and congratulating her family. When I arrived, her parents invited me to join them for tea in the sitting room, and that was when I knew she had spoken the truth about Mr. Eldrich. She sat quietly beside him, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes cast to the floor. A bruise was forming around a small cut on her cheek, just below her eye. Eldrich had the nerve to speak in her stead._

_“You’ll forgive Miss Katherine's appearance, she was kicked by one of the horses attempting to groom them. I’ve told her the stables are no place for a lady but she just doesn’t listen,” he said, turning back to her and smiling, as she pulled her handkerchief up to her face, in an attempt to hide herself from both of us._

_“Oh I don’t know, I think the only horse's behind she needs to avoid is you,” I said, only loud enough for Eldrich to hear me, and before he could express his outrage, I pulled Mr. De Marre aside. “Could we speak in private, Mr. De Marre?”_

_Once I had Mr. De Marre successfully separated from his family and that unsightly boil of a human being, I inquired as to whether he was aware that Kitty did not wish to marry Mr. Eldrich, and that I very much suspected he was the one who had hurt her, not a horse. And when he admitted he was aware of all those things and still wished his daughter to go through with the marriage, I believe I felt the beginnings of wrath coiling inside my soul._

_I did the only thing I could to keep myself from leveling that house in a display of angelic justice._

_“Well in that case, Mr. De Marre, though I realize it is highly irregular, I have an alternative proposition for you.”_


	6. Chapter 6

Crowley laid the journal gently in his lap, sighing as he glanced out the big bay window next to Aziraphale’s favorite chair. The sun had set, and the sky outside was beginning to pepper with stars. The bookshop seemed more lonely than ever, and he had the itch to put the journal back in the desk and go drown his sorrows at the Ritz. He felt heavy with remorse, at what Aziraphale had been made to endure while he was selfishly sleeping. He wanted to talk to the angel, to ask him about all of it, about her. And yes, maybe tease him a little. But he didn’t think the angel would ever speak about any of it, not after the way he had reacted when Crowley initially discovered the locked drawer. 

He stood from the chair, stretching as he approached the fire and added another log. He waved a hand at the now empty bottle of wine, willing it to fill itself, and actually ventured into the kitchen for a glass this time. He sat back down in the chair, pulling a blanket from the sofa and curling himself into it as he dove back in. 

The wedding was difficult to read. Aziraphale was weighted with so much guilt, even knowing he had saved Katherine from a life of anguish with Mr. Eldrich. He could have easily influenced everyone in her life and changed the outcome, but that would have been far too much meddling. He couldn’t impede their free will, after all, and he was so attached to Kitty by then that he believed he had no choice. 

The logistics of an immortal taking a mortal wife were surprisingly complicated. Aziraphale had never had to appear mortal on such a regular basis, and it was clearly a stress at first. He had to make her believe he slept, and he was too embarrassed to share her bed. At least, until a few days after she became a permanent resident of Fell Manor. She found him on the sofa in his library, and in a moment of unspoken dependency, fell asleep next to him as he read. He had carried her to her bed, and as her sleep muddled brain fought on the edge of unconsciousness, she had begged him to stay. Crowley wanted to be amused at the awkwardness of it all, but the moment was too sweet. It was Aziraphale, through and through. He had held her as she fell asleep, his arms around her, and asked her if she was happy. She assured him she was, and asked him if he still loved her. He told her he did. And that became their ritual. At night he would ensure she fell asleep peacefully with him by her side, before removing himself to the sanctuary of his library. But not before that simple exchange. “Are you happy?” “Yes my love. Do you still love me?” “Of course.” 

Crowley flew through the pages, all sense of time lost as the fire burned out and died. Aziraphale felt as if he had stolen Kitty's chances for a normal life, as if he had sabotaged whatever plan had been laid out for her. He gave her everything, though. His sole purpose became her happiness. He imported a piano for her from France, he stocked his library with her favorite books. He took her to see the Palace at Buckingham, and the bustling markets. When she fell in love with a blood red stallion, he bought it for her. She would spend her days riding her stallion in the fields, composing her music on the piano, and Aziraphale would cherish every note. 

Crowley was honestly surprised that Aziraphale had managed to fool a human into thinking he was mortal for so long. Aziraphale had a very limited tolerance for time spent around humans, and it was usually the amount of time it took for him to begrudgingly sell one of his beloved books. But for years they cohabited the same space, enjoying each other's company in a somehow platonic but also intensely fond accord. Crowley banished any feelings of jealousy that threatened to bubble up. 

Aziraphale had performed a great feat indeed, fooling a mortal like that. Or, so he believed. But Kitty De Marre would prove that she was, and always had been, quite a bit more clever than either celestial could have anticipated. This was proven in one particular encounter, the detailing of which equally thrilled and terrified Crowley when he stumbled upon it. 

_Kitty and I enjoyed many comfortable evenings together. She loved when I read to her, regardless of the content. She said my voice sounded as if God had made it specifically to bring books to life. That always made me smile._

_One evening of just that exact diversion sticks in my memory. It pains me to recount it as it is, I believe, my moment of greatest weakness. It would be an insult to Kitty to omit it, however. For it is the night her tender hands dismantled every wall I ever constructed to protect myself._

_We sat as we always did, before the fire on the sofa in the library. I don’t recall the book I was reading, but I do remember the pale blue dress she wore, and the way her hair fell down my arm as she rested her head on my shoulder. I didn’t notice when she eased her hand across the back of my shoulders. We shared many innocent caresses before, and surely none had ever caused any distress. She would wrap her hands around my arm, or drape her wrist over me in an easy embrace. It was rather lovely, I’ll admit. Having the warmth of another being so near, your heart at ease with their closeness. Because everything we had was built on a soul-deep trust in one another. I suppose her fondness of that trust is what inspired her to deviate from the norm that night._

_Her hand ventured from my shoulders to cradle the back of my neck, her fingernails absently curling into my hair. It was a strange sensation, that quick rush of butterflies down my spine. I stumbled over my words, and for some reason, her lighthearted giggle was abnormally distracting._

_“Sorry, darling. Didn’t mean to disturb you,” she assured me, though her fingertips did not cease that most distracting activity at the back of my neck. My pride wouldn’t let me discourage her._

_I made an example of clearing my throat before continuing. I was reading the words, but my mind was very much fixated on her other hand. It rested on my chest, over my heart, before she quietly released the top button of my shirt and grazed her fingernails along my collarbone, before seeking out my heartbeat once more with the palm of her hand. And there it was again- that tidal wave of static all over me, drawing my acute attention back to the tingling at the back of my neck._

_I closed the book around my thumb, keeping my place on the page, and stared down blindly at it._

_“Kitty… what… uh…” I stammered, my heart hammering in my throat. She seemed to understand, her thumb slowing its caress of the skin under my collarbone._

_“Ezra, I… I'm sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable. I’ll stop if you want me to. I … I wanted to be close to you is all. It’s nothing sexual, I… just wanted to feel the heartbeat of the man who saved my life…”_

_I turned to look at her, and found her eyes glistening with tears. The sincerity that mingled with those tears quite nearly discorporated me._

_“No it's… it's alright,” I stammered, though I was still incredibly flustered. I had felt such strong, foreign sensations, and at the same time such immense love and gratitude was radiating from her. I reached up and placed my hand over hers where it lay over my heart. She smiled, her eyes flickering to my hand before she turned her palm up, grasping my hand and pulling it to her mouth. She kissed my knuckles delicately, and I couldn’t believe how much I adored the lines of her lips, the blush in her cheeks. I moved my hand to her chin, my thumb tracing the line of her bottom lip. I realized with some alarm that my hand was trembling._

_I kissed her. Not as it had always been between us: a chaste peck on the cheek, a kiss to her hair as she slept. No, this kiss was daunting. It must have been sin, for I had never before felt its likeness. When I touched her lips it was like I could once again feel that first breeze beneath my wings, taste the first heavenly vintage on my tongue. All those indulgences paled in comparison to the delicious torture on her tongue. I felt a monstrous hunger, a need to be closer to her, to consume that feeling until I lost all sense of myself. For the first time in my considerable existence I... wanted._

_I had to tear myself from her lips, only then realizing that my hand had gathered wantonly in her hair. I rested my forehead against hers, sighing dejectedly as I felt the weight of what I'd just done. “I’m sorry, Kitty,” I muttered._

_She was silent for a moment, before her hand reached up and pulled mine from entangling in her hair, instead intertwining her fingers with mine. “No, Ezra, don’t be. You trusted me. It is me who should apologize.”_

_I leaned away to meet her eyes, unsure of what she meant. She seemed uncomfortable under the scrutiny of my gaze, and stood, her warmth leaving a void next to me. She fidgeted with her hair, and began pacing nervously._

_“What do you have to apologize for?” I asked her, concerned by her sudden change in demeanor._

_“You just placed all your trust in me. And I… have not been entirely honest with you. I have been keeping a secret from you, for a very long time. I can't any longer.”_

_I stood, concerned, but resisted the urge to reach out for her hand. I said nothing, only waited for her to continue. She had never kept anything from me, what could she have been concealing for so long?_

_“Ezra… I don’t know how else to say this, but... I remember you. From… when I was a girl. You read to me, in father's library.”_

_I felt as if an icy fog had settled over me. Like a chill that ran deeper than my skin, down to my angelic core. The memory of that night came flooding back in to my consciousness. How could that be? She had only been a child. Above all else, the humans should never know of our existence. It is an unspoken but unbreakable rule. _

_Perhaps she didn’t understand, perhaps I could still convince her otherwise…_

_“That night changed me, it forged who I would become. You made me see that no matter if I am a lady, no matter if father forbade it… I could be whoever I wanted to be. Like Mary Shelley. I've remembered your face, clearly, as if it were my own reflection in the mirror every day. It’s been almost thirty years. And you haven't aged a day.”_

_I had never been so close to loosing an expletive as I was just then. There was no mistake. She knew._

_I felt as if my angelic soul was rattling inside me, shaking so badly that my corporation might just crumble around me. I poured myself a hefty glass of the scotch I kept in a decanter on my desk and downed all of it. I knew I should say something but I had no words. I must've looked a terrible fright, because Kitty approached me cautiously, and stopped only a few feet away._

_“Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t know what you are, or why you’ve chosen to spend with me what will be a lifetime, and I’m sure only the blink of an eye for you. It doesn’t change the way I love you.”_

_My mind raced through the years. Every glance my direction, every time her eyes met mine… she knew. She had always known._

_I finally managed to find my voice, though I’m sure it was far less stable than I remember it being. “Kitty, let me ask you something…”_

_She tilted her head curiously, and her hand reached out for mine. I couldn’t handle the touch of her skin at the moment, and she looked as if her heart broke when I pulled away and avoided her eyes._

_“That first party. You must've recognized me, and you knew then that I hadn’t aged. You knew that I… wasn’t…” I couldn’t bring myself to say the word 'mortal' or 'human,' so I just jumped to the point._

_“Why did you seek me out?”_

_Her eyes softened, as she thought back on that first meeting. “I was amused, actually. I was surprised that someone with… a lifespan such as yours and such an immense intelligence as I had witnessed as a girl would spend their time at one of the dullest parties I’d ever attended.”_

_Of course she made me laugh. Who else could have at such a time._

_“In truth… I watched you for a while. You weren't very good at making everyone think you fit in there. It was endearing, really, the way you kept attempting such trivial conversations about dancing and money and women. I thought…” she seemed to consider her next words. “I thought, although you were trying so hard, you looked more lonely than anything.”_

_I froze, and looked up at her. Even at the time, I hadn’t realized it was my loneliness that caused me to meddle with the humans as intimately as I had. And yet, she had seen it, clear as day._

_“I just remember thinking you must’ve been some sort of creature, like the one from the book you read me. I remembered why the creature became such a terrifying monster. Because he was alone.”_

_“So... you approached me, not knowing what I was but knowing all the same… that I wasn’t like you. And you still thought that I was deserving of your compassion…” I said, strangely recalling that first drink I shared with Crowley, after the Arrangement._

_“Well I just thought… what a cruel master Victor Frankenstein was to make his creation spend his eternity alone?”_

_And that was when I knew I had to leave. If she ever discovered the truth about what I really was… she had essentially just equated God with cruelty and heartlessness. I had ruined her. Her immortal soul was on the line, and years spent living side by side with an angel had served no purpose but to instill… doubt._

_I ran that night. I assured Kitty that I would be back, but even I didn’t believe it. Years of lying to her, to myself… that I was doing a good thing, that my angelic influence on her just might not be terrible, even though I had stolen her life away. I was foolish, and reckless to assume that just because I was an angel, I must have been doing the right thing._

_I left her there in the library, and even as I could hear her crying, I walked out the front door and far into the field, far enough not to be seen from Fell Manor, and spread my wings. I felt like screaming, like dying. I considered finding a way to discorporate myself, just to free myself from the entrapment of such human life. I thought perhaps returning to Heaven would reset my priorities, my perspective. But I had been discorporated many times before, and it had never changed my dependency upon Crowley. So what good would it do where Kitty was concerned?_

_Had I known how little time I had left with her, I would not have run as I did. But I had to get away, had to take a breath that wasn't so intoxicatingly perfumed by her presence. I flew to London, with no destination in mind. I found myself staring up at the horseshoe above a celestially secured door, one that I had placed decades ago. I had told myself I would never return, that I couldn’t possibly be that attached to a demon. But I was. Kitty was right, about everything. When I was alone, I became a monster._

_I remember feeling so broken, all I wanted was to feel nothing at all. I finally understood why Crowley would choose to shut himself away as he had. I lay next to him, my wing draping over him as he slept, and for the first time in centuries, I forced myself to sleep._


	7. Chapter 7

_I don’t know how long I slept. When I awoke, everything was exactly as it had been, except Crowley had inched closer to me in his sleep. I departed abruptly, fearing that he would wake and find me there. I still felt like I had done a monstrous thing, but I had to go back. It would destroy Kitty if she never saw me again._

_When I arrived at Fell Manor, I could hear the beautiful sound of Kitty's music resonating through every hallway. How I missed it. I quietly waited outside her study, not wanting to disturb her. The piano fell silent, however, instead replaced by her coughing. She didn’t seem to be able to catch her breath, and eventually every labored gasp grew shorter. I rushed through the door and to her side, just in time to catch her as she lost consciousness. The sight of her blood on those stark white piano keys hit me like an anvil to the chest. I knew exactly what it was. Tuberculosis. I placed my hand on her chest, prepared to use every ounce of my heavenly grace to rip the disease from her body. Until I felt a hand on my shoulder._

_“Aziraphale.”_

_I held Kitty's limp body in my arms as I turned, unable to keep the tears from falling. Azreal looked forlorn, his eyes troubled as he looked down at Kitty._

_“I cannot allow you to heal her. It is not in The Plan,” the Angel of Death finally spoke, his hand squeezing almost imperceptibly on my shoulder. I looked frantically from him back to Kitty, the truth sinking into my soul like poison._

_“This is it. This is my punishment. For stealing her away from humanity.”_

_I didn’t realize how hysterical my voice had become, as I caressed Kitty's hair and took in the sight of her pale skin, that pink glow gone from her cheeks and her eyes darkened from sickness._

_“Tell him to punish me. I will Fall for her. Please punish me, don’t take her,” I begged, and Azreal tightened his hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently._

_“Don’t. Don't you dare, Aziraphale. I couldn’t bear to see you Fall. You, who risked everything to give them fire because you couldn’t bear the thought of their suffering. You are good, Aziraphale. You know this isn’t punishment. It’s just…”_

_“Part of The Plan,” I finished for him. He nodded solemnly._

_“What do I do now?” I asked, utterly lost, pulling Kitty to my chest and listening to her hollow breaths._

_“Care for her, as you always have. Bring her peace. Her soul is destined for Heaven, you know this. Take solace in that. I'm sorry, brother.”_

_He squeezed his hand on my shoulder one final time, before turning to leave in silence. I couldn’t appreciate it at the time, but I'm glad it was Azreal who came. Of all the angels in Heaven, his is the gentlest soul. I suppose that’s necessary for his line of work._

_I carried Kitty to her bed, and sat with her until she came to. Her eyes lit up and she smiled, though there was pain in that smile that hadn’t been there before I left. Yet another of my failings I would have to atone for._

_“Ezra, you’re here,” she whispered, tears trailing past her temples to mingle in her hair._

_“I’m here, my sweet. I’m so sorry you had to endure this without me. I swear I will never again leave your side,” I said, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. She gasped a sigh of relief, the quick intake of air causing her to cough again. I rushed to retrieve a handkerchief for her, and a little of my soul perished at the sight of her blood on it._

_I sent for the best doctors and caretakers in all of London. I brought in enough servants to man the likes of Versailles. And just as I promised, I never left her side. I didn’t care that she never saw me sleep, or eat. I didn’t need it. And she already knew I wasn’t human, now she only knew to what extent._

_For the first few months she still ventured to her piano, and she still loved to lay with me as I read to her. She grew weaker as time went by, and the day she could no longer mount her horse was the day the spark left her eyes. She had cried into his mane, and all I could do was watch. One by one, every little thing that made her who she was slowly dwindled away. And every day I reminded myself that this was what I deserved. No matter what Azreal said about The Plan… I deserved to watch her suffer like this._

_Eventually she became so weak she could no longer leave her bed. I sent for her parents, and her brother traveled from Cambridge. I had never had to endure the goodbyes of loved ones at the end of mortal life. It was so much harder than I ever expected._

_On the evening of March 17th, I requested a moment alone. Her family and the doctor left us in peace, and I closed the door behind them. I brought her my copy of Frankenstein, which she weakly held against her chest, her chin quivering. _

_“Is this the copy you read to me?”_

_“One and the same.”_

_She smiled, her hand finding mine and squeezing weakly._

_“Darling, do you still love me?” she whispered quietly, and my heart ached to answer her._

_“Of course. Are you happy?”_

_“Like Heaven on Earth.”_

_I cried for her. We only ever said those words just before she fell asleep. I knew that this time, when she did, she would never wake up._

_“Kitty I need you to know the truth,” I said, desperate as she struggled to stay conscious. Before I could doubt myself, I unfurled my wings, and watched as her human eyes drank in the sight. Her unhindered joy was as it was when she sat on my lap, at 6 years old, listening to my voice speak to her soul._

_“Aziraphale. My name is Aziraphale.”_

_Her hand reached up to cradle my cheek, and with the last bit of strength remaining to her, she said my name. My real name. “Aziraphale. I always knew you were my guardian angel.”_

_Her hand fell away from my skin, and as she breathed her last, I finally understood why God punished Crowley as He did. To have something so precious, something you loved with every fiber of your being, taken from you. To feel the loss in your heart as if it were you that was dying._

_I had always thought cursing Crowley to forever be seen as the venomous snake was harsh, even for him. But as I held Kitty in my arms, the light of her soul gone from her body, I got but a glimpse of the rage in God's heart when Eve took that first bite._

_Crowley succeeded in his task of tempting Eve. And even though I now understand what it is to feel such loss, I have also forgiven him. He may have gotten humanity banished from the Garden, stripped them of paradise--he made it so that they would inhabit a world where war, famine, death, and pestilence could ravage their once Heavenly bodies. But he also gave them freedom. Their own will to choose between love and hate, to choose knowledge, and happiness, to raise their children to become better than themselves. He gave humanity the opportunity to become what they are... perfectly, irrevocably, beautifully flawed. More than that he started a chain of events that lead to a singularly bizarre reversal, wherein an angel felt unworthy of a human's love._

_He may have done the wrong thing that day in the Garden. But I'm not so sure he did a bad thing._


	8. Chapter 8

Crowley closed the journal gingerly, setting it on the armrest of Aziraphale’s chair. It seemed so harmless, staring up at him with its seemingly banal leather cover. He vaguely remembered feeling this way after the Fall. Complete and utter devastation. This time he didn’t feel it for himself, but for his friend. How had he never thought about how the angel spent those hundred years without him? It cut right to his (questionably demonic) heart to know how desperately Aziraphale had needed him. _He slept next to me…_

He didn’t know how long he sat and stared at that journal. Could have been hours, could have been days. He was so lost in his reverie that he didn’t even hear the bell over the bookshop's front door. What did pull him back to reality was not a sound, or a movement, but a feeling. Warmth, light, and comfort. Everything that soothed his anxiety-laden serpentine soul. _Aziraphale._

He stood quickly, grabbing the journal with the intent of putting it back in the drawer. But he was too late. 

“Crowley my dear, I’m sorry I've been away. How long have you…” 

He stopped in the doorway, arms full of books, his eyes transfixed on the journal in Crowley’s hand. He then did something Crowley had never seen him do before. He dropped every single book he was carrying and didn’t seem to care about the damage that caused. And his blue eyes never moved from the journal. 

“Angel, I…” Crowley stuttered, frantically trying to come up with his words. He felt a flash of pain as he remembered Aziraphale's angelic fury that night years ago… before he settled on the only words that seemed to come to him. “I’m sorry.” 

At first he wasn’t sure which he was apologizing for—reading the journal, or the events that transpired within it. He hoped Aziraphale understood he meant both. 

Aziraphale stared maddeningly for several more minutes, his expression unreadable. Crowley twitched under his scrutinizing blue eyes, somehow momentarily more frightening than any pair of snake eyes. Sure, Aziraphale had removed the lock from the drawer, but that didn’t ensure he wouldn’t react the same way he had the first time. 

“No, my dear, it's…” he stopped himself, fidgeting a little, before finally meeting Crowley’s eyes. “Thank you, Crowley,” he whispered, his voice getting weaker as his chin quivered slightly. 

“I know I shouldn’t have read it. I’m sorry. I…” 

_Couldn’t stop myself. Sounds like a pretty shitty excuse for betraying your friend's confidence._

“No, I… I'm glad you read it. Now someone… other than me will remember her,” Aziraphale said, letting his eyes fall to the ground and frowning at the pile of books at his feet. He bent to busy himself picking them up, and Crowley rocketed forward to help him. He piled them together with the ones that Aziraphale gathered, but froze when the angel seemed to deflate. He stayed hunched over, an elbow resting on his knee as his eyes were lost somewhere far away. 

“Just promise me something?” Aziraphale said. 

“Name it.” 

“You’re paying for lunch.” 

Crowley outright laughed, overjoyed at the smile that graced the angel's lips, though it did not spread to his shadowed sapphire eyes. He knew what Aziraphale meant, even though he had deflected his torment with humor. It went unspoken that Crowley would never mention the journal, or anything within it. 

“Sure, angel,” Crowley nodded, finally adding the journal to the top of the pile of books. Aziraphale considered it for a moment before resting his hand on its cover fondly, his eyes closing as years of his life played out in the darkness. He sighed, standing and leaving the books where they lay. 

“And maybe… do me the favor of driving the speed limit?” 

“Not a chance in Hell,” Crowley smiled at his friend, gesturing for the angel to go first. He was a demon, after all. He had a reputation to uphold. Aziraphale shook his head incredulously and exited the back room, and Crowley followed. But not before glancing back at the journal, seeming to glow as the sunlight poured through the bookshop’s windows. 

Centuries of Aziraphale insisting books held the key to the human soul… and it had taken a mischievous demon to find the one that contained an angel's.


End file.
